


Now and Then, It's Hard to Believe

by izzyisozaki



Series: Canonverse [4]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Adorable Victor Nikiforov, Canon Compliant, Clubbing, Cultural Differences, Developing Relationship, Eros Katsuki Yuuri, Established Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov, Innuendo, M/M, POV Katsuki Yuuri, Picture taking, Pole Dancing, Post-Canon, Romance, Russia/Japan, Summer, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Travel, figure skating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-28
Updated: 2018-08-21
Packaged: 2019-04-14 01:13:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14124921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/izzyisozaki/pseuds/izzyisozaki
Summary: When he first dreamed of winning the Grand Prix Final, he had imagined something very different. By making it to the top of the podium, he hoped to get acquainted with his idol, to grab the latter’s attention even just for a second. Otherwise his “favorite” was too unreachable, a star orbiting in another galaxy. Yet he was right there, by his side.A series of post-canon ficlets forTerra Incognita 2.0, a YoI fanzine about traveling and social media, which will come out in April, 2018! I was assigned Russia, so expect its cities and cultures. The zine piece, set in Sochi, will eventually be posted.





	1. Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the prologue to my piece(s) for the [_Terra Incognita 2.0_](http://unknownlandzine.tumblr.com). The country I got assigned was Russia (omg), but the story starts off in Japan, at the 2017 GPF (so post-canon). Since the story is set in canon, it will fit in with other things I have posted in my _Canonverse _series. If I have the chance, I will write for more than one city in Russia; the zine piece itself is set in Sochi, which will be posted here eventually~ I actually spent more time writing this prologue than my main piece, as it was supposed to be included, but then I went over the word limit while fleshing out the parts that actually take place in Sochi. I have learned my lesson and will make an outline next time__
> 
> I have some great people I would like to thank, first ones being [Mina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Multiple_Universes) for betaing the first draft and [Daffy](http://narcissuspseudonarcissus.tumblr.com) for betaing the second and last one. Your input was invaluable!  
> [Murky](http://audioloop.tumblr.com) who helped me find music for Yūri to skate his 2017-2018 long program to, a detail I could not stop fussing over once I decided to add it.  
> And the zine team and participants. Thank you for this experience.

He won, and finally letting go of his breath, he turned to look at the man next to him, who was still staring up at the scoreboard that was suspended over the ice rink. Victor Nikiforov, his figure skating coach and fellow competitor, had broken the world record set by none other than himself at the Grand Prix Final two years ago, only to see it taken away on the very same night by his student, Yūri Katsuki. 

“We can finally…” 

Yūri sought Victor’s gaze, still breathing heavily after skating his long program to “[Peace of the Woods](https://youtu.be/KgRvjTtrzEo).” It was a quiet piano piece that accentuated every move he made, speeding up towards the middle to once again fade. Before it began Victor had kissed the ring on Yūri’s right hand, prompting a repeat of their indirect kiss last year in Moscow, at the Rostelecom Cup. Skating to the center of the rink and bringing his lips to the metal, Yūri completed the rite, and from that moment on Victor never took his eyes off him – how could he? – until it was over and time to wait for the judges’ final marks. Draping Yūri’s jacket over his shoulders, Victor accompanied him to the Kiss and Cry, which had a beautiful backdrop that looked like a paned window, and a backless, upholstered bench. Sitting down next to Yūri who, unlike usual, did not even bother putting on his jacket properly, Victor swallowed and attended the results. 

After the announcement of Yūri’s total score, which shattered the world record Victor had set twice, Victor’s heart flatlined, his mind barely responding until he heard Yūri’s voice. Drawn to the sweet sound, Victor turned to face him. Yūri’s eyes glistened as he spoke, soft and opaque, like ruby copper. 

“…eat katsudon togeth–” 

Before he could finish his sentence, Victor pulled Yūri into a crushing embrace, knocking what was his one-thousandth something rice ball plush to the ground. Despite opening his arms automatically, Yūri’s eyes squeezed shut before meeting Victor’s hug, a wave of relief quickly washing over him with the contact. He had medaled before, but it had been nothing like this, not even at Worlds. 

“Let’s do it for the rest of our lives.” 

Yūri’s eyes reopened, as if unsure he heard correctly. What Victor had said was not all that surprising, yet he felt an ache forming in his chest and a tingling in his nose. When he first dreamed of winning the Grand Prix Final, he had imagined something very different. By making it to the top of the podium, he hoped to get acquainted with his idol, to grab the latter’s attention even just for a second. Otherwise his “favorite” was too unreachable, a star orbiting in another galaxy. Yet he was right there, by his side. The corners of Yūri’s mouth drew back as he gripped the jacket of Victor’s tracksuit tightly, eyes rapidly filling with tears. 

“Victor…” 

“Yūri…” he heard him say back, cheek nestling into his hair, “You did it.” 

“No,” Yūri interrupted with a sniffle, moving back from the security of Victor’s shoulder to look him dead in the eye. “We did.” 

The crowd’s cheers became almost deafening then, closing Yūri off even more from everything that was not Victor, whose hands came around to cup his face; Yūri did not need to see his cheeks to know they were bright red, Victor’s thumbs quickly wiping the wetness his tears had left there. There was no hiding the intimacy of their actions, and at the first quirk of Victor’s mouth Yūri leaned closer, unconcerned with everything else around him: Victor’s eyes were as crystalline as the shallow ocean waters of Hasetsu Bay, and his hands were incredibly soft and warm, caressing Yūri’s skin like sand. 

Bringing their foreheads together, Victor’s left hand slid into Yūri’s hair, and they breathed in unison for a few moments. Yūri had seen the tension in Victor’s face, his cheeks already as red as the tip of his nose. Nudging Yūri’s forehead, Victor brushed their noses with a fleeting, circular motion, prompting Yūri to meet his gaze. The glossiness of his blue eyes showed beneath the folds of his eyelids, and time seemed to stop before Victor drew back. Yūri was stunned, heart left aching as he watched Victor reach to grab his cellphone from the pocket of his grey track pants. The case was brand new, customized to look like the costume Victor had worn during their ice dance at last year’s GPF Gala. With his entrance onto the rink he had surprised nearly everyone, including Yūri, who had no idea what Victor had been planning, as much as he had fantasized about it when they goofed off during practice, holding and lifting each other like a pair to the music of his exhibition program. 

It was like a symbol of Victor’s comeback and his staying as Yūri’s coach. 

Smiling softly, Victor then took his hand, drawing Yūri back to the present as he circled his thumb against Yūri’s skin reverently. 

“A commemorative photo?” 

Yūri stared back at Victor, mind recalling the same gentle tone of voice the latter used to address him when they first met in Sochi two years ago. How Victor looked at him now was markedly different, however, starting from the upcurve of his brows: beneath them, his eyes shone with pearl-like tears, ones you would have to dive into the ocean countless times to find. Just thinking of Victor’s gaze fixed on him made Yūri’s heart pound and head spin. 

“You’re my best student, and my favorite skater.” 

Yūri’s composure finally collapsed, and he threw his arms around Victor when, suddenly, a mad desire came over him: he dipped Victor away from the cameras and, without any other warning, crushed their mouths together. Victor stilled in surprise, to then grasp Yūri’s shoulder and drag his free hand through Yūri’s hair, making it feel even better as the tension left their bodies. Perhaps the cheering became even louder as the world’s attention zoomed in on them, but it did not matter. Yūri knew only one thing right now, and it was the taste of pure, unadulterated victory, promising to remain even after he drew back, to answer Victor. 

“Sure.” 

**Нравится: 28 180**  
**v-nikiforov** Gold and Silver, Kiss and Cry #GPF2017 #wow  
Посмотреть все комментарии (1225)

 

Once the Grand Prix of Figure Skating came to an end, they left Nagoya for Hasetsu, already preparing for the onslaught of national and international championships they both had scheduled. The overlapping dates of their respective competitions would force them to separate for some time in December, but they already knew how to deal with that based on last year’s experience, ensuring to hug and kiss each other with shameless abandon before their departures, too. Since it was Olympic season, Yūri deemed it wise to forgo Four Continents, not needing it to qualify for the winter games, which were in less than two weeks. They would be going up against each other again, an idea that was as enthralling as it was nerve-racking for Yūri, who was still not used to being at the top alongside Victor. 

After Victor took gold at the European Championships in Ostrava, he proposed that they carry on their training for the Olympics in Hasetsu. Yūri was concerned about Victor not having his coach up till then, but Victor assured him that it was fine: by going back to Japan they could start getting used to the time difference there would be in Korea, where the Olympics were set to be held, and focus more on themselves. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: In the show it is a bit misleading, but Kubo-san intended for Yūri to not know Victor was going to join him on the ice for his exhibition skate, so it was a surprise (this is based on at least two sources so you can take my word for it).


	2. Moscow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First stop in Russia: Moscow! This is set during the 2017-2018 European Figure Skating Championships, so there are references to things I've established in other canonverse stories. Doing research for pole dance was fun, but I'll be happy to not have to invent a routine (however vague) again.
> 
> Now pre-orders for copies of [_Terra Incognita 2.0_](http://unknownlandzine.tumblr.com) are closed, but orders for pdfs (and maybe leftovers) will open after they have shipped!
> 
> I really wish to thank [SqueezeBabe](https://twitter.com/SqueezeBabe) for betaing this! Thanks to one of her observations I realized I set the story in the wrong year, which changed things quite a bit... A shout-out also to [Taiga](https://odinbytiye.tumblr.com), who cheerleaded and even got me to add some more.

_This year’s European Figure Skating Championships were going to be very different from the rest. That was to be expected after living legend Victor Nikiforov, age 29, announced his comeback to competition at the Grand Prix Final in Barcelona last season. He had taken a break to coach and draw inspiration from the Japanese skater Yūri Katsuki, who under his wing won silver at the Grand Prix last season, missing gold only by 0.12 points. The nature of their relationship had been relatively obvious to the media from the get-go, but no one could have predicted the influence Katsuki would have exerted on the five-time World Champion in regard to his own skating. Debuting two new programs and taking gold at Russian nationals after a year of both coaching and competing, it was like a new Victor Nikiforov had been born._

“You were amazing.”

Startled from his thoughts, Victor tore his gaze from the resurfaced ice to meet Yūri’s. They were winding down from the competition and following award ceremony, which hadn't afforded them much time to talk. Victor had interviews to take and rundowns from his coach to hear before he could finally get away.

“Did I surprise you?” It was not that Victor was fishing for compliments; he knew what he was capable of and that he had skated relatively well despite rushing his programs for this season. Things always got done a lot faster when he was inspired and he felt his body could move on the force of the feelings churning in his chest thanks to Yūri. He had the music commissioned by the time another hot blissful summer together ended and he began training full time again. Victor focused most of his energies on coaching Yūri, but in the mornings he still practiced on his own while waiting for Beauty to arrive.

Victor’s voice was airy and marked by genuine curiosity, wrapping itself around Yūri, whose head dipped in assent. His cheeks were colored pink, eyes lowered under his dark eyelashes, and something stirred Victor’s stomach at the sight.

“You…you always do.” Yūri’s voice was barely a murmur, the gold ring he always wore catching Victor’s eye. Sliding his left arm along the barrier, he stepped closer to Yūri. Yūri’s hand gripped the edge, their hands not yet touching. Before Victor moved to fix that, he lifted his other hand, brushing a few loose bangs to the side of Yūri’s face. Tracing his fingers behind Yūri’s ear all the way until his nape, Victor watched as a secretive smile bloomed on Yūri’s lips.

Closing the distance between them was easy then, his hand trailing over Yūri’s on the barrier to end up in the juncture of his arm. Victor pulled Yūri’s head flush against his chest, closer in their reach when he was wearing his gold-bladed skates. His free skate costume wasn't as revealing than that of his short program, so he hoped Yūri wouldn't be as embarrassed this time around. Who knew Yūri’s heart could still beat so fast within his vicinity?

“Victor…what do you want to do to celebrate?” Yūri was now looking up at him with a gentle expression, and it was one of those moments Victor swore he needed all his strength to hold himself back. Well now no one was watching, right? Yurio had already stomped away with Yakov and Georgi to face his “Angels” out in the hall.

“We can go eat something nice…”

Yūri quirked an eyebrow at that, tilting back slightly as he rolled his eyes and tutted in amusement. He then met Victor’s gaze again and flashed him a coy smile, as if he knew exactly how to turn Victor’s mind to mush.

“We always do that after a competition.”

That was a fair point, but considering Victor had gold – in every sense – it was hard to think of anything else he could want right now, though time with Yūri was always welcome.

He decided on something simple.

“More like a date…?”

Yūri’s face lit up at that, his hands sliding up Victor’s shoulders to hook around his neck. Victor followed his cue, tightening his arms around Yūri’s dainty waist. All he had to do now was to lean forward and take those beautiful lips instead of helplessly staring. Yūri shut his eyes and stood on his toes.

Tilting his head slightly, Victor took Yūri’s lower lip between his teeth and tugged on it slowly before letting go. The effect was instant, a turn of expression promising to consume them like flames did fuel. Yūri’s eyes opened and closed, licking the plush of Victor’s lips in one fluid movement.

It was a little too hot, even for a delicious katsudon, and Victor’s mind was sent reeling before he could stop himself from pushing and pressing Yūri against the barrier, kissing the living daylights out of him.

So the zamboni driver passing by would see them, so what? Victor needed Yūri like fire needed air.

After three failed attempts, he managed to let go of Yūri, relishing the sight of him dazed and disheveled by their kissing despite his confident display from before.

“Let’s…head back to the hotel. I won't be able to last long tonight if I don't get some rest first.” Victor winked, earning a small snicker from Yūri whose cheeks, despite his reaction, were becoming no less red.

“You slept the whole time before the competition.”

“Well, maybe I don't have the beast stamina of Katsuki Yūri, age 25,” Victor quipped back, breaking into a smile. “Anyway, we need to start getting ready if we want to go.”

Yūri supposed it was a traditional Russian restaurant and looked forward to it, but once they were far from their hotel, he had a feeling that was not where they were going. Victor was on his phone speaking in rapid Russian for at least five minutes until their taxi pulled up next to a building overlooking the Krymskaya Embankment. Right by the entrance, past the parking lot and the heaps of snow, he saw a crowd of people and realized they must be club-goers. Judging by their appearance, the club must have had a rigorous dress code. He also noted they were mostly handsome men.

_Oh._

Yūri was glad Victor had picked out his suit and styled his hair, otherwise he probably wouldn't have made it past the bouncer no matter who he was; the rigid face controls of Moscow night clubs were legendary. It wasn't enough to be wealthy; you needed the complete package: good looks, exquisite taste, and a magnetic personality – like Victor. Yūri didn't care for going to places that were necessarily high-end, but if Victor wanted to, then so did he. They got out of the taxi, and Victor took his hand.

Channeling the performer in him that could seduce even Victor, Yūri smiled, waiting for the bouncer to give him the anticipated once-over. It must have not even been necessary, however, because after one look at Victor the bouncer opened the door to let them in. Leaving the cold air of the entrance hall behind them, they went to leave their winter coats with the dapper attendant at the coat check, who then directed them to the elevator. Finding it already there, Victor led Yūri inside.

Now that they were alone, Yūri let his eyes freely roam Victor’s body, every steep curve and dip of muscle outlined by the dark silk of his ensemble. It was hard not to think back to the day before yesterday when Victor was wearing his short program costume, with its low collar and very exposed chest, the black appliqué sewn to a nude illusion in a celestial array of gems. Yūri first saw it on the screen of his laptop during Russian nationals, when he had been competing without his coach in Japan, and it had been doing things to his mind. He couldn't recall seeing such a daring program from Victor before, not even in his junior 2014-2015 season, when he wore the black mesh outfit that recalled bondage. It was even sexier than last season’s, which he had done in a unitard.1

“We’ll have dinner at the restaurant.” Victor pushed the button for the last floor, and brought his hand around Yūri’s shoulder. As seconds went by and the elevator set itself into motion, Yūri wondered just what they would do after eating. Partying by their definition of the word was out of the question, at least for Victor, although he gave no sign of being tired.

Maybe he could spoil Victor a bit…? 

Yūri shook off his thoughts, as tempting as they were, and followed Victor out of the elevator; they had reached the top floor, where the veranda was. There was a striking view of the embankment, whose illuminated edifices formed the skyline of the city that never slept.

Accompanied by the waiter who had seen them step out from the elevator, they sat down at one of the elegantly set tables near the windows, the sound of clinking glasses and brisk steps echoing throughout the dining area.

It wasn't the most extravagant restaurant he had ever been to while living with Victor, but there was something about the place that had him feeling jittery, like the air itself was intoxicating. The low lighting lent itself to the intimate atmosphere, casting a soft shadow on Victor’s face as he browsed the menu, propped on his elbow with his index finger bent next to his chin.

_He was so..._

Yūri swallowed and looked back at his menu, still failing to make out out the Cyrillic letters on the page. Sitting in the taxi huddled close to Victor, breathing in his cologne and listening to him speak in Russian, had left him feeling slightly delirious.

Once they chose their food, they looked over the list of drinks, Victor opting only for a glass of red wine. He was skating his exhibition program tomorrow, so he probably wouldn't be drinking much more than that; he also had the practice to go to. Once the waiter came to take their order, Yūri had Victor take care of it, his attention drifting to the gold ring on the man’s right hand.

“You seem thoughtful.”

Yūri looked up at Victor, not realizing he had spaced out while staring. The waiter had even brought them their drinks.

“Ah, no. I’m just…hungry.”

Victor rolled the wine in his glass, but didn't sip it.

“That sounds rather euphemistic.”

Yūri bit inside his lip, trying to fight down the blush that he knew was coming. He had this. It didn't matter how fragrant Victor was or how good black looked on him; he could beat Victor at his own game.

“Maybe cos you have something else on your mind.”

Victor’s mouth quirked, not denying the statement.

“Is it _that_ obvious?”

Smiling, Yūri reveled in the pleasure of Victor’s eyes raking over him, not needing to answer.

After they had eaten their main course and finished their drinks, conversing and looking out the window occasionally, Victor asked for the bill, ready to go on to the next thing. Downstairs there was the club proper, and there was no way they were going to leave without checking it out first. Everyone was dressed in a sophisticated manner, but Yūri knew things took a different route downstairs, where the suit jackets came off.

Excited, he followed Victor to the elevator, noticing the cold stares being directed at them by a couple of men smoking outside on the patio.

_That’s right._

Smirking to himself, Yūri stood close beside Victor, whose hand was on his shoulder again, waiting for the elevator doors to open.

“Are you tired?” Yūri asked as they walked inside, breaking apart momentarily.

“Quite the contrary, though I admit my feet kind of ache.” Victor pushed the elevator button to go down a floor, turning to face Yūri with a soft smile. Yūri felt a stab of tenderness at that, and brushed the back of his fingertips across Victor’s left cheek, like he was searching for something.

“I’ll distract you from it.”

Victor lowered his gaze, smile turning downright bashful. Yūri nearly retracted his hand in embarrassment, but stood his ground because he really meant it.

“Okay.”

Yūri could hear the tease in Victor’s voice, but little did he know that Yūri meant to stay true to his word, shy or not.

The sound of music became audible as they reached the club floor, and stepping out of the elevator, Yūri walked ahead of Victor to a door down the hallway, which was illuminated by blacklight. It opened before Yūri even had the chance to turn the handle and, with the door held open, they walked in.

Yūri really liked this. The area was bathed in electric blue, as though they had walked into an ice cave instead of a cocktail lounge playing downtempo pop. The dark ambient lights embedded in the ceiling and behind the decor illuminated the area just enough for them to see. The recesses of the walls, like rooms and each equipped with a table, were painted by the single glow of a lamp. All the space around the furniture worked as a dancefloor, its perimeter propped with not a few dance poles, so one could enjoy the spectacle sitting from the leather couches in the rooms. Apart from the poles, Yūri’s favorite detail had to be the curtains adjacent to them, which one could close at will, for instance, to enjoy a private performance.

It was still early for it to be crowded, and Yūri couldn't have asked for better as he eyed the bar.

“I’ll get us some drinks for the room… Save that one over there?”

Victor smiled and nodded, seeming amused by the thought. Yūri’s Russian was still abysmal, but he could do that much at least; he knew Victor’s tastes inside out.

It took some minutes, but soon Yūri turned on his heels with drinks in hand. He ordered something strong for himself, because he was going to need all the buzz he could get to be around that pole sober.

When he was close enough to make out Victor’s figure by the table, he stopped in his tracks, noting a stocky man standing way too close to him. Even from there, Yūri could sense Victor’s displeasure while speaking to the man, every tilt of his head a sign of his annoyance.

The man’s hand came to Victor’s back, rubbing slightly, and Yūri felt his gut twist at the sight. Victor stepped back, his painfully artificial smile obvious to Yūri even under the dim lights, and somehow the man went before Yūri snapped. Making sure the man was gone, Yūri came behind Victor, setting the drinks on the table.

“Who was that?”

Victor turned his head, not exactly startled, but tense nonetheless.

“Someone who just had the wrong idea.”

Yūri went with Victor’s explanation and took a seat with him on the leather couch. Sipping his White Russian cocktail, he looked at Victor, who still had the shadow of a frown on his face. After a few moments, Yūri set down his drink and scooted closer to him.

There was no denying that Victor was often at the receiving end of attention, even unwanted; it happened to Yūri too (though he was a master at evading people), but Victor seemed particularly disgruntled by the exchange with the man.

“Hey… Whatever that person said, it doesn't matter.”

Yūri had a feeling that Victor wasn't upset about something aimed at him per se; whether it was an insult or an insinuation, it always rolled off the skater like boulders did mountains. It had to be something more than that…

Victor nodded with a small smile and sipped his drink, but Yūri knew he was still mulling over it. “Listen.” 

Yūri stood up, hoisting a leg over Victor’s lap so he could straddle him. Victor’s expression immediately changed, surprise wiping almost all the vexation off his face. Placing his arms on Victor shoulders, Yūri cut off most of Victor’s view, a dark silhouette against the blue-lit background of the club.

“I don't care what others think. I only care about what you want.”

“Yūri…”

Yūri grabbed him by his necktie, tugging him forward. Whatever Victor was going to say, the words died on his tongue as Yūri captured his mouth, kissing him hard and fast. Victor went pliant against him, bringing his hand to caress the back of Yūri’s head. In return, Yūri carded his hand through Victor’s hair, scritching the tapered strands next to his ear. Victor hummed in contentment, sneaking his left hand up Yūri’s vest and gliding it incessantly over his back.

Frustrated, Yūri pulled back a little in order to speak again. If they were going to make out in the club, at least Victor could touch him more freely.

“Lower,” he commanded, moving his hands to Victor’s chest before he began to explore his neck, Victor’s Adam’s apple bobbing beneath his lips. Gradually one hand slid down to the hem of his pants, causing Yūri’s breath to hitch against the crook of Victor’s shoulder.

It was funny, but Yūri felt a lot more confident in public, comfortable with pushing boundaries, doubt not looming persistently in his mind.

When Victor’s hand finally slid down his backside, squeezing him possessively, Yūri nearly bucked against him, hand taking a fistful of Victor’s hair.

_I’m yours._

Thanks to the upward shift, Victor began to kiss the line of Yūri’s chest, hands kneading the muscles of his sinewy thighs. The soft, warm feel of skin made Yūri’s blood rush south, every inch of his body hungry for more of Victor’s touch.

He wanted to feel everything Victor was and wanted to give, but right now, there was something he had to do.

Moving back, Yūri began to loosen his tie, Victor’s hands coming between them to open his own jacket. Yūri proceeded to do the same, undoing the buttons and shrugging his off. Victor watched, hands running up Yūri’s back. Before Yūri could finish opening his shirt, Victor leaned in, latching onto Yūri’s collarbone with his ruthless, sexy mouth. For a few moments Yūri allowed for Victor’s mouth to roam his chest, biting back a moan at the teasing of his left nipple. Victor’s lips parted, tongue coming out to circle the areola, and Yūri gasped when Victor took it into the wetness of his mouth.

_Ah, this is too much._

While Yūri tried to discard his shirt, Victor moved to suck on his other nipple, humming in a way that made Yūri’s head spin. Before Victor could render him useless with that wicked tongue, Yūri pressed a kiss to his hairline and climbed off his lap, eliciting what sounded like a protest. Yūri felt equally frustrated and shot Victor an apologetic smile before pulling off his shoes.

He then hurried to close the curtains at the end of the room, knowing it wasn't going to end there. Goosebumps erupted on his skin, air fanning against the wet spots on his neck and chest. Yūri looked around while he pulled the cord, seeing a number people crowded around the disk-jockey, moving to an electronic beat. Once the curtains were shut, Yūri turned to grab the dance pole, cool against the warmth of his hand. Despite the sensual haze cast over him, Victor still looked relatively composed, but that was sure to change.

Without breaking their gaze, Yūri leaned his back into the pole, sliding down and spreading his thighs before slowly standing again. His shirt came down to his elbows, and Victor’s eyes began wandering all over his body, eyes glinting with the blue light.

The club music filled Yūri’s ears as he brought his hands to his belt, unfastening the buckle and pulling the strap through the loops. Victor wet his lips, beginning to look mildly uncomfortable in his suit, and Yūri gave him a half-smile as he unzipped his pants. He proceeded to slowly slip them off while slightly gyrating by the pole, feeling his excitement grow with every inch of skin he uncovered in front of Victor.

Once Yūri’s pants and socks were tossed to the side, Victor finally moved to take off his jacket. Unbuttoning the cuffs of his shirt and leaning back into the couch, he opened his legs under the table.

Victor’s hips weren't exactly visible, but the movement was enough to stir Yūri’s heart in unexpected ways. Walking around the pole with his arm bent at a right angle, he twisted on his right leg, back curving against the pole. What kind moves would Victor like the most? Yūri knew his butt was nice but his boxer briefs weren't exactly showing it off much… Hooking his leg on the pool, he recalled that Victor liked making Yūri stretch, often helping him into difficult positions. Maybe that would impress him? Gripping the pole with both hands, Yūri worked himself up began a routine with plenty of spins and fan kicks, his loose shirt and tie lending a flare to his movements as he rolled down the pole.

When he was sufficiently warmed up and could focus better on Victor, Yūri did some more provocative splits on the poll, liking the way Victor’s hand grasped the empty cup of his beverage like it was his lifeline. When Victor finally eased his grip and put it back on the table, he reached for Yūri’s drink. Figuring it was time, Yūri crossed his legs around the pole to sit so he could remove his shirt, swiftly rolling and throwing it on the couch.

“Don't try to steal my drink; I’m not done with it yet.”

He’d never be done.

Undoing his tie and slipping it off, his movements became overtly sexual as he dipped his hips with the pole. With one foot out and the other straight, he bent his knees and twisted his body. Victor was clearly shifting in his seat now, and a smile crept to Yūri’s face as he bent his back, his profile to Victor. He was really glad he wore contacts tonight, because he didn't want to miss Victor unraveling for anything in the world.

It was as if his skin burned with Victor’s heated gaze, drawing him like a moth to a flame. After noticing its sturdiness when he sat down earlier, Yūri realized he could work the table in front of Victor instead of the floor. Exhilarated by the thought, he did a full turn with both hands, pirouetted, and left the pole, eyes now set on Victor.

In a final surge of boldness Yūri climbed onto the table, knowing just exactly how to move his body to get the other man to crack. He had noticed how Victor subtly fidgeted to not touch himself, but Yūri was going to ensure that he did. Crawling to the end of the table, he reached Victor and sat on his knees. Bringing a hand under Victor’s chin, he held the beautiful man’s gaze and reached down to unbuckle his belt. Victor made a sound, but held as still as he could while Yūri began to unbutton his pants very slowly, just barely touching him. Once Yūri was done with the zip, he slid his hand up Victor’s stomach, Victor’s breath becoming haggard.

“Will you keep your eyes on me, beautiful?”

Yūri murmured against Victor’s lips before tilting his head from side to side, peppering kisses onto Victor’s face. Victor let out a faint, desperate yes in Russian, but kept his eyes open and fixed on Yūri. Prying Victor’s right hand from his kneecap, Yūri pressed it against the bulge in Victor’s underwear, continuing to kiss his face until, finally, Victor’s breath rasped in his throat as he moved his palm over his erection.

Yūri slowly withdrew his hand, rewarding Victor will an open-mouth kiss before slipping away to continue. Finishing off his White Russian, Yūri placed the empty glass with Victor’s on the other side of the couch, where Victor wasn't sitting, and ran a hand through his hair as he took in his work. The edge of the table blocked the view from Victor’s waist, but he could see Victor’s arm still moving languidly, palming the hardness between his legs while Yūri sat back on his heels. Yūri was hard as well, but he wouldn't be touching himself.

This was about Victor, and his eyes were all Yūri needed.

Leaning back on his left hand, Yūri dropped his head and lifted his right arm in the air to do a bridge on his knees. This gave Victor a good view of his chest, jutting out with the twist of his waist. Once he pulled back up, he turned his legs towards Victor, placing his hands flat on the table. Lowering himself on his arms, he rolled his hips to the music, feeling his body pulse with desire. He rolled onto his back, dragging his hands over his body, panting slightly as it all went to his head.

“ _Yūri_.”

Turning on his shoulder, Yūri looked at Victor through half-lidded eyes, noticing his left hand clutching the table. Smiling seductively, Yūri reached for it, pulling it towards his mouth. Looking up at Victor, whose face was as pink as a Rose of Winter, Yūri ran his lips over the smooth skin of his hand. He had begun to suck on Victor’s knuckles when a thumb was hastily inserted in his mouth, causing him moan as it shifted between his lips. Victor’s body wavered and, understandably curious, Yūri leaned forward on his elbows to peek down where Victor’s other hand was. Victor’s hand was curled into a loose fist at the edge of his underwear, but before Yūri could see anything else, Victor lifted his chin, dragging his wet thumb across Yūri’s lips.

“You’re driving me _crazy_.”

Victor’s eyes lowered, and few seconds and a dozen heartbeats later, Yūri sat up, shifting his legs so they hung over the edge of the table, open in front of Victor.

“What will you do to me, then?”

Yūri took Victor’s free hand again, guiding it to his chest. Their gazes locked, Yūri’s heart pounding like a jackhammer against the warm press of Victor’s palm.

Yūri didn't know what it had been, maybe the gasp that escaped his lips as he leaned into Victor’s touch, but a moment later his back was pushed against the table and Victor was on top of him. Feeling the firmness of abdominal muscles against his hard-on, Yūri began to frot helplessly against Victor’s stomach, his voice breaking into a mantra of gasps and cut-off moans.

Victor was too busy biting patterns and chasing the taste of Yūri’s skin to think anymore, but when Yūri’s legs wrapped around his back to increase the friction between them, he duly reciprocated the movements, linking his left arm around Yūri’s neck. This had not been foreseen, so Victor snaked his right hand under the table and wrapped it around his painfully hard erection instead of changing position, stroking himself as he moved back and forth. It was so good, too good, and only the volume of the music and Yūri’s gorgeous mouth could block out how loudly he called Yūri’s name over and over, the cracks in his heart overflowing with molten gold.

The only reason Victor hadn't kissed silver was because Yūri was worth so much more.

Extremely close, he relaxed his hand, focusing on how he could get Yūri to come first like this. Nuzzling Yūri’s face, he began whispering sweet nothings into his ear, praising him in every aspect that crossed his mind. Yūri’s nails dug into his back, grinding against him like his life depended on it. Victor told him he thought of him the entire time he skated, that he wanted to be by his side more than anything. Yūri then called out his name, and with all his being Victor wished to dissolve into Yūri, to become a part of him, despite Yūri already told Victor he was with his skating a long time ago.

Victor wanted more than gold – the symbol of his career – he wanted forever – the ring around his finger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 I describe Victor's last season programs [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11298492) (in the first chapter of that story), if you're curious.


	3. Sochi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We can now post our pieces for the travel zine, so this will be the final update! Though I didn't get around to writing a ficlet set in Saint Petersburg, I do have other stories that are. The one I took an extract from for the zine writer preview was [_At Your Feet_](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13081692). Like the last chapter set in Moscow, the latter has mature themes as well as cultural elements... The following that appeared in the zine is only rated T, of course.
> 
> When I write stories set in canonverse, I always try to make everything align with what I've already written for it, even if that makes things harder! Like I mentioned in the beginning, I spent more time writing the prologue, which was a prelude to this piece. Either way, I hope you can enjoy this small, non-firsthand view of Sochi and Caucasia.

The flight from Saint Petersburg had gone by smoothly, and by the time Victor and Yūri got to their hotel (which was also a health resort) in Sochi, it was lunchtime. To go to the airport they had risen at dawn, much to the displeasure of Yūri, who may or may not have drooled on Victor’s shoulder while sleeping on the plane.

It had been over two years since either of them had been in Sochi, the “Russian Riviera,” and it could not have felt more different for Yūri. Going from a dime a dozen skater to an Olympic champion since then would have done that, but it was mostly the fact he was now there as Victor’s fiancé, and not as a mere fellow competitor who could never even dream of catching the Living Legend’s interest. Sometimes – much to the other man’s discontentment – he needed to poke the whorl of Victor’s hair to realize it was all real.

“You’re doing it again,” Victor said suddenly in a gravelly voice, shifting in Yūri’s lap as he was roused from sleep.

“What?” Yūri asked innocently. After lunch by the sea, they had taken a rest at Olympic Beach, the name and vicinity alone making it their first beach of choice. After all, they had practically just arrived, and could seek out “wild” beaches later; the presence of pebbles instead of sand was also much appreciated.

“Poking the top of my head.”

“Well, it stimulates follicle growth.”

At jabs like that Victor always lost it, and standing up from the canopy swing, he grabbed Yūri and lifted him over his shoulder.

“What are you doing‽” Yūri exclaimed in surprise.

“Going to the sea,” Victor stated all too cheerfully, adjusting his grip as he trod the shore with Yūri dangling helplessly from his shoulder. “It stimulates follicle growth, and cleanses your skin.”

“Put me d-down,” Yūri stammered, before changing his mind at the sight of the ebbing tide, “Not here!”

Victor began his descent into the water, the shore sloping sharply downward at the end of the berm. Despite kicking his heels back and forth, there was no way Yūri would be able to break free, too flustered and afraid to hurt Victor with his movements as he was, so with a frustrated laugh, he made one last cry for mercy.

“I couldn't help it!”

For a moment Victor seemed to hesitate, but then walked in even further. Bringing Yūri down from his shoulder, they came face to face to face, Yūri’s feet brushing the water.

“ああ、冷たい！”

At the touch of cold water Yūri wrapped his legs around Victor’s waist, refusing to go in alone. It may have been June, but that did not mean the sea temperature was easy to get used to.

Victor cackled in amusement, and moved in a few steps more, until their thighs were submerged in water.

Yūri yelped, feeling a wave splash against his back, and Victor wrapped an arm around his waist, pulling him closer. Yūri braced himself for the water, knowing Victor was going dunk him straight into the Black Sea, whether or not it meant going down with him.

“If you do it, I swear I’m going to–”

But it was already too late once Victor lunged forward, making Yūri hold on tighter as he tilted backwards.

“ヴィク一！”

They crashed into the water with a sploosh, a wave drenching Yūri’s shoulders completely as he gasped in protest, swearing to obtain vengeance. At his expression Victor kissed his nose, laughing again. As much as Yūri loved that sound, hearing Victor beg for mercy later was going to be even better. Ignoring how freezing he was, Yūri smirked up at him, reaching to grab the strands of his tapered hair.

“You need to be taught a lesson.”

As predicted, Yūri’s change of tone wiped the smile off Victor’s face, making his hold on Yūri loosen slightly.

“Wh…what kind of lesson?” Victor straightened himself so Yūri could stand up.

“Oh, you’ll find out soon enough,” Yūri replied, grabbing Victor’s chin, “Vitya.”

Victor stared at him in shock, and Yūri could not help but smile in self-satisfaction. He had never called Victor that – even though Victor had invited him to, making Yūri blush profusely – claiming he wanted to learn Russian better first. Now that it was finally out, Yūri was going to strategically use it.

“Y-Yūri~” Victor slumped against him, burying his reddening face into his shoulder, “I love you.”

Yūri blushed, almost forgetting his plan now that he had Victor in the palm of his hand.

“Mm, Vitya,” he repeated, caressing Victor’s back. “Could we go shopping after this? I would like to buy some things I forgot.”

Victor seemed a bit surprised, but agreed happily, not suspecting anything. “Anything you want, любовь моя.”

 

To get around the city easily from their hotel Victor did, of course, the last thing Yūri expected: he rented a scooter. The one Victor chose looked straight from another decade, but for visiting Sochi it felt perfect, the metal coating a beautiful, shiny purple. Yūri was excited by the prospect of riding around the city on the back of it, and assured Victor that he was not in a hurry to go shopping – the mall closed late in the evening anyway.

As they rode towards the city center, Yūri gradually became lost in the expanse of Victor’s back, watching the people and buildings in Sochi swish by. Before he completely melted into that warmth, they reached the Monument of the Archangel Michael, the patron saint of city. They took off their helmets, and Victor began to explain that it had been built over a decade ago in honor of the soldiers that fell in the Caucasian War. Yūri noted the dismal tone in Victor’s voice when he said it, and Yūri did not have a hard time guessing why, considering one of the controversies that surrounded the 2014 Olympics in Sochi.

“Hey, Victor. Why don't we go for a walk in that garden we passed?”

Victor broke into a smile, turning to better see Yūri. “The garden of ‘Russian-Japanese Friendship’?”

Yūri could not help blushing a little, still a bit incredulous that the place was called that. Japanese gardens were certainly popular, though. He hummed in affirmation, and slid his helmet back on.

Japan Garden was straight down the road, and at the sight of a bronze dragon, Victor pulled over to park. There were plaques written both in Japanese and Russian on the stone platform supporting the statue, and following the path into the garden, they came across different arrangements of rocks, bushes, and gravel.

“It’s…”

“…different, yes.” Victor finished Yūri’s sentence with a laugh, guessing how improvised it must have seemed to him for a dry landscape: the gravel, in particular, was raked into rather messy patterns. Typical zen garden or not, though, most of the plant species were native to Japan, and at the sight of a pond, Yūri hooked his arm through Victor’s.

“Look!” Victor turned to see where Yūri was pointing, next to a flowering tree.

“…Snowbell?”

“Well, yes, but there’s a koi pond under it.”

“Ah!” Victor exclaimed. “Too bad we don't have any food for them.”

“I have a grapefruit left in my bag. Just a sec…”

They walked to the border of the pond while Yūri worked the grapefruit in half with his fingernails, so the carps could all nibble the pulp away. Once it was separated in two halves, Yūri bent to place one in the water. They waited for the fish to swarm around the floating fruit, and then sat down on the grass to eat the other half.

“It’s so bitter…” Yūri complained, making a face.

“Maybe something sweet will help?”

Yūri looked at Victor with a confused look; they usually did not allow table sugar into their diet, let alone carry any with them. Plus, Yūri preferred to put salt on his grapefruit when it was too bitter–

_Oh._

Yūri’s thought process was interrupted when Victor leaned in and kissed him, everything he thought about grapefruit suddenly forgotten.

When Victor pulled back, there was a satisfied look on his face, and lifting Yūri’s hand to his lips, he ate the last piece of his grapefruit.

_God._

In an urgent attempt to distract himself from the mouth at his fingertips, Yūri looked up at the blossoms, and thought of taking a picture. Reaching for his phone, a question popped into his head.

“What’s your favorite flower, Victor?” He stood up to take a closer picture of the white flowers, breaking Victor’s grasp on his wrist, and then sat back down next to him.

“My favorite is the _lily_ ,” Victor whispered in his ear.

 _He actually went there, making_ that _pun on my name_ , Yūri thought, too flustered to speak.

“So fragrant…” – Victor continued, furthering Yūri’s embarrassment – “and stunning.”

“Victor.” Yūri nudged him on the shoulder, trying to angle his phone to take a photograph of them. Victor just continued smiling, Yūri using all his strength to not look at his stupidly cute face, which was a lot more dangerous in reality than in camera preview.

After they left the garden, Yūri was set on going to the mall. Just because Victor was devastatingly _perfect_ and Yūri could not help kissing him in a public garden, did not mean he gave up on his plan for revenge. They reached Grand Marina Gallery in fifteen minutes, Yūri gathering the determination to prevent Victor from going on a shopping spree. As soon as Yūri spotted the things he needed, he would find a way to purchase them without Victor’s notice.

In less than hour, when Victor was long gone in an Italian shoe store, Yūri said he would be right back from going to the bathroom.  
  


Tonight they already had plans, and one of them was dining at an elegant restaurant in the old port neighborhood, which had a beautiful view over the bay. Victor had pulled out Yūri’s chair before sitting down himself, adjusting the cuffs of his dress shirt before looking up at the waiter, who handed them both a menu and a wine list.

Once the waiter was gone, Victor quickly skimmed their selection of wines, waiting to see if Yūri had any questions for him. He picked up his menu and shot Yūri a smile, when he froze, gaze dropping to the base of Yūri’s neck.

After looking up, Yūri smirked to himself and returned to nonchalantly browsing the menu. “What’s wrong, Vitya?”

Victor put on a forced smile, the back of his index finger brushing his chin, “What…is that?”

“Oh…this?” Yūri ran his fingers over it, before bringing his hand back to the menu. “A new tie. Isn’t it unique?”

Unique was an understatement. It was probably the ugliest necktie Victor had ever seen in his life.

“You said you had enough of them already…” Yūri secretly enjoyed the sight of Victor averting his eyes from the necktie peeking out from his vest.

“Well, I thought I’d get it to use it tonight, you know.”

“The one I got you was perfect for that suit,” Victor noted, eyes narrowing on the offending object.

“Oh? I thought I would surprise you.”

Victor’s expression seemed to soften at that, and he covered Yūri’s hand, looking less like he wanted to burn the abominable necktie he was wearing. Its pattern was evidently Russian, but was more fit for a rug than his beloved fiancé.

“Well, you did.” Victor laughed, and for the rest of dinner he seemed to forget about it, though he did not insist on taking pictures.

Only when they got back to the hotel did Yūri reveal he had worn the necktie on purpose to get back at Victor, that it was not really to his taste (unlike the black, lacy booty shorts he had bought). The look on Victor’s face was priceless, and Yūri felt vindicated, even enough to not carry out the rest of his plan… He had overlooked an important detail, though.

“Remember what I did with the last one I didn't like, Yūri?” Victor was now holding the necktie between his fingers, voice dropping an octave when he said Yūri’s name.

Good thing the hotel had soundproof rooms.  
  


Now that they were even, the next morning Yūri focused on studying the guide, wanting to go somewhere Victor had not yet been. Eventually they settled on Vorontsovskaya Cave, which was near a village not too far from Sochi, but instead of taking the bus with everyone else, Victor rented a car and drove them there. It was a long, windy ride through the Caucasus Mountains, with villages, tea plantations, farm animals, and log cabins passing from the window. When they reached the gate that lead to the cave, they found no one there, and so continued by foot after parking the car in the designated area.

After a good twenty minutes, a large stone carving of a head came into view. Yūri remembered reading it represented an ancient deity, but if he had to be honest, it looked like a British lawyer in a powdered wig. A nozzle was jutting from the top of its head, pouring water into the catch pool at the border of the fountain’s basin, just connected to it. To the left, at the bottom of the hill, they saw the cave, vines trailing downward from its top to sparsely cover its entrance.

People were standing about, taking pictures or drinking water as they waited for the tour guide to arrive. While Victor went to buy the tickets, Yūri looked on, when his attention was brought to a nearby tree, tall and with no understory, whose serpentine roots covered good part of the ground. Despite the pleasant atmosphere of the forest, filled with the sounds of birds, the time-worn wood of the trees reminded him of something akin to a Burton movie. Yūri then recalled how peoples of the Caucasus, like the Circassians, used to worship certain trees and groves, believing that they housed divinities. Looking back towards the fountain, Yūri observed a number of relief carvings on what looked like tree stumps, seeming to depict some of the Slavic deities and heroes he had read about. Victor had told him it was a site of dolmen culture, but he doubted the latter was connected to those that inhabited the area centuries later, though Circassians, for example, considered dolmens as holy constructions.

Once Victor returned, they joined the group of those waiting to enter the cave, and after fifteen minutes, they were led down a ramp near the entrance. Following the tour guide, they entered different halls of the cave. One had huge cave bear bones, which Victor remained transfixed by, bombarding the guide with questions. Yūri had already guessed from the polar bears on his skate guards that Victor had a similar thing for bears that their younger rinkmate, Yuri Plisetsky, had for tigers, and enjoyed watching Victor get excited over the cave more than the cave itself, though the steep passageways and stalactite ceilings were, of course, impressive.

After having a light meal and some of Sochi’s famous tea, the next best part was their walk through the surrounding forest, its crooked stone paths and scrubby slopes seeming pulled straight from a Ghibli movie. As they walked past relict trees and climbed over snags, Yūri took Victor’s hand, fascinated not only by the verdant nature around them.

“You know,” Victor said after a while, turning towards him, “Slavs venerated nature and the forest for a long time.”

“So…kind of like the Japanese?”

“Yes. They believed in many spirits. It’s hard to reconstruct anything, however, since there is no religious text that can be referred to. It just got gradually absorbed by Christianity.”

“You know, it’s not so clear cut for us, either. Religion, I mean. Especially when it comes to marriage rites.”

Victor hummed in agreement, and they continued their hike in silence. When they reached the end of the path, overlooking a stream that ran down a hill, Yūri could not help from asking, “Do you… What kind of wedding would you like?”

They were standing right next to each other, hand in hand, near a very tall tree. The gold ring he gave Victor seemed to sink further into his palm before he realized how hard he was squeezing the hand that wore it.

Victor then pulled him close, so close Yūri could count his eyelashes. “Anything with you appeals to me, but if I have to choose between Russian and Japanese, I prefer the latter.”

“I don’t mind…two ceremonies…”

Yūri was embarrassed and felt like he could not have sounded more greedy, but Victor beamed and that was all that mattered to him.

“How about…a combined ceremony? At Hasetsu Beach?”

Overwhelmed, Yūri kissed Victor, not sure how to form words, but already sure that his heart was forever moored to Victor’s.

“Yes.”


End file.
